Perfect II: The Art Of Living

Chapter 25

Chapter 25:

He seemed alien. Or was his active persona be any more passive? Skylar walked on the halls of NYAAS like it was his first day in a world he never knew. He held his head up high with his small necktie dangling under his lime green collars. Covered with a plain blue sweatshirt showing off his collars and neck tie, he felt nude. In oppose with the emperor who had no clothes but felt dressed, Skylar believed no one about his linens giving him color and life. I died. I died.

              He closed his locker after fishing out his book. The echo of emptiness was altruistic. Everybody looked at him as he turned around. He deemed to be a show everybody would enjoy. Yes. He was now. Everybody fed by seeing him roam the halls again. They were famished from his absence. He had been a star. Just now, he was a black hole.

              “Hey faggot, how is your royal crown?” a mediocre jock called him by the arch towards the staircase.

              He grunted.

              “I’m talking to you,” the jock continued and Skylar positioned himself on the railings, a few steps from the foyer.

              “Significantly, your oxymoronic insolence is bugging me out.”

              The jock squinted his eyes. “What?”

              “Well I guess you, usually worthless person, do not know what the word ‘faggot’ means, don’t you?” he chuckled. “It means a bunch of sticks used deliberately in the 1800s and relating it to such monarchial term of ‘crown’, it is oxymoronic. Unusual for a moron such as you saying those things,” he said with a forced smile. “However, upon all the things I might have babbled about, only, maybe, you understood the word ‘moron’. I don’t care. You are an insignificant stupid creature if my hypothesis is accurate.” He rolled his eyes and went back on track but before he could step, he felt a pair of palms clutching his shoulders.

              Adrenaline rushed in his body. Fight or Flight. He chose the former and threw his persecutor past the railings.

              A silent thud followed. “Now if you try that again, we might increase the level of pain and suffering,” he said with conviction. “Take that literally. I am three steps away from the ground floor.” He winked. “Oh hi, Will,” he greeted William who appeared astonished of the bozo sprawling beside the end table.

              “What happened?” William asked, flustered.

              “Oh he acted post-coital on me,” Skylar stated.

              William coughed and sighed. “Skylar White is back, bitches. Leveled up!” he squealed and went down the stairs, past the bewildered two jocks standing on the foot of the staircase.

              “Praise me, peasants. Praise me,” he ordered and rolled his eyes, going up the second floor with a proud smile.

“Incandescent!” Enid exclaimed as her theory evolved into a postulate. Mr Doornan was an ordinary man with an ordinary life suspected because he happened to be the one guy who had the paradoxical congruency of identification with the real murderer!

              “Doorman, Josh; Sheriff, 40th Street, shifts: morning; 7:00-13:00, night; 18:00-0:00” Enid read. “Must have connections with someone homophobic. Quite high in position, my theory could be another postulate.” Enid checked her clock.

              “Great. Just a pair of hours passed and you’ll be on sight, Mr Doorman,” she dragged her knapsack containing a book, her laptop, flashlight, charger and a hair band.